


John: Search.

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dream Bubbles, Family Reunions, Fluff and Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-17 17:50:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18970054
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: first fic ayyyyEDIT: This is very low-quality and corny. Think twice before you read this lmao





	John: Search.

Your name is John Egbert, and you just lost everyone you love.

You have never felt worse in your life. 

For this whole stupid game, you've had someone to guide you, be it Rose, Terezi, or even Vriska.

So what do you do if they're all dead?

**John: Search.**

You allow the wind to carry you through the dream bubbles, the tail of your hood trailing behind you as the familiar breeze encompasses you. As you drift from bubble to bubble, you desperately survey each one, in hopes you may find what - or who - you're looking for.  _Please,_ you mentally beg the Furthest Ring as another bubble comes up blank. 

_At least let there be this one person left._

You peer into another one.

_One._

Another.

_Please._

Another.

_PLEASE._

Another.

Some bubbles show you a Jade, a Rose, a Dave, even other Johns. Their white eyes pain you to see.

Finally, hours later, you tire of fruitless searching for your father. You enter what is presumably another dead John's bubble, one of your house before Sburb.

You lower yourself onto the grass, and lie down for a while. Bluh, why couldn't Dad be in at least one of the bubbles? Do they not accept non-players? 

**John: Enter kitchen.**

You suppose you're tired of the grass and head inside. As you step indoors, your stomach rumbles. Multiple hours of sifting through dream bubbles really does make you hungry, huh? You prepare to come face to face with a doomed version of yourself as you breathe in deeply in preparation, then catch a familiar scent, carried to you by the soft breeze that follows you everywhere you go.

The scent of a cake in the process of baking.

You warily allow the wind to gently scoot you toward the kitchen, still wafting the nostalgic aroma to your nose as your heart starts racing.

You turn the corner to the kitchen, and--

There he is.

Your father quietly hums to himself as he reads the newspaper, waiting for the cake to finish baking, hat still lying upon his head.

"Dad?" The word quietly escapes from your lips.

He puts down his newspaper and looks up at you with empty white eyes, but with the warmest smile you think you've ever seen. He stands up and opens his arms invitingly. You rush into his arms immediately. He smells like cake.

"Son."


End file.
